PS 3543 
.022 W3 
1919 
Copy 1 






,. AR IS A BORE 




Lieut. Edward Jerome Vogeler 

A. S. M. A. 






All Rights Reserved 



JUL 3l 1919 







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WAR IS A BORE 
and Other Poems 



BY 

LIEUT. EDWARD JEROME VOGELER 

A. S. M. A. 



Sparrowspointer Publishing Co. 
Baltimore, Md. 



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CONTENTS 

Page 

TO A JIMMIE PIPE 9 

ZE SPANGLED STAR BANNER n 

A PAWN 12 

THE NOON-DAY SHOT 13 

THE "LIFER" 15 

WAR IS A BORE 17 

ROYAL INDIGESTION 20 

"CONTACT" 21 

THE INDIGESTIBLE YANK 23 

A MATCH, SIR 25 

CHILI CON CARNE 26 

DIVINE RIGHT 28 

LOVE OF STRIFE 30 



To a Jimmie Pipe 

Gi' us a bit o' makings, bunkie, 

I ain't no steady mooch; 
I'm just a poor- blokie from Brooklyn, 

And my nerves are on the hootch. 

It's very on frequent I smoke 'em, 

But what am I gonna do, boy? 
I just lost my boozum companion, 

My amber-stemmed calabash joy. 

I got it from blue-eyed Minnie, 

Who works at the pipe store La Salle ; 

How she got it was none of my business, 
But she was a regular gal. 

She gimme it the day I enlisted, 
She looked a bit guilty and shy; 
"Lil sumpin' to tak' along, Buddie," says she, 
And her eyes, partner, wuz not dry. 

It's two years now that I smoked it, 
On hikes and on transports and such. 

You asks maybe I don't miss it? 
And I answers, no, maybe not much. 



10 WAR IS A BORE 



The stem was pure yeller amber, 
And the bowl was fit for a king, 

Wi' a comely and handsome nude lady 
A sitthi' all carved on the thing. 

And after I smoked it a year, pal, 
It turned a brownish pink red ; 

Twas such a bootiful thing, pal, 
I most wanted to take it to bed. 

The crust in the bowl was like pie crust, 
And the smoke that it gave was so sweet 

That, blown in the coffee at mess-time. 
Made a regular Delmonico treat. 

Well, last night, when doing the trenches 
At Devil's Lane Post Number Three, 

I thought I'd light up the old hod, 
When a Boche took a pop right at me. 

He missed me, the dirty, low Tootin, 
The misguided, low-mannered snake; 

But oh my beautiful joy bowl, 

I Mu in dead center; and say, did it break? 

I finally found the pieces, 

But left them where they lay; 
But HI find the linn that shot that gun 

If it takes till Judgment Day. 



AND OTHER POEMS 11 



Ze Spangled Star Banner 

Voila, Voila, Cliere Madelaine, 
Open quick up ze window pane; 
Do you hear not ze sweet refrain 

Of "Ze Spangled Star Banner"? 

Ah, here come zey, ze brave Sammy, 
For true Frenchmen toujour* les amis. 
My heart he beat lak hell, dammy, 
At "Ze Spangled Star Banner"! 

Open quick ze door, Ma Chere Petite, 
(live zem ze truly Frenchman's treat; 
Dance strong wiz all ze little feet 
To ki Ze Spangled Star Banner." 

oh, zat's no good, ze step's too long; 
If my left leg she was not gone, 
T show zem dance how to right not wrong, 
To "Ze Spangled Star Banner." 

Oh come, anyhow, and dance him wiz me, 
Wan leg, she's enough ; oh, say can you see 
Fne pied comme ca, une pied comme ci, 
To "Ze Spangled Star Banner." 



12 WAR IS A BORE 



A Pawn 

You are just a pawn in a great big game, 
A mighty small pawn in a mighty big game, 
But without the pawn there'd be no game, 
So play your part. 

You are just one of a million others, 
But all depends on you and your brothers, 
So forget yourself and think of the mothers — 
Who play their part. 

If you should be called in this great big game 
To give your life or come home lame, 
Without reward or glory or fame — 
Why, play your part. 

For when pay-day comes you'll get your due, 
And, paid in full, you'll start out new, 
For the Great Paymaster is always true — 
When you play your part. 



AND OTHEE POEMS 13 



The Noon-Day Shot 

Do you get that hunkie with the square head — 
butcher cut? 

Well, that's top-kicker Corgan, a sure 'miff 

tough mutt ; 
He's been thru this war without barking a 

limb, 
And they do say there's no hurting of him. 

He's got the Poor Lemereet and enough Cradi- 
guerres 

To deal 'em out to the boys in pairs; 

And lie's tit wherever the fightin' was fast, 

And always comes in whole at the last. 

This settin' in a trench just makes him sick, 
'Cause he's gotta be where the fightin's thick; 
So he's gonna leave at noon today 
To boost the Fourth Libby Loan in the U. S. A. 

Ah! see him shift his cud and drag his heel; 
That means he's gonna give us a spiel ; 
Pay attention or he might get sore 
And boot you thru the dugout door; 



14 WAR IS A BORE 

"You'se guys gather up and get this stuff, 
I'm going back home and gonna treat ? eni 

rough ; 
I'll make 'em dig down and then cough up 
Ennff dried green froghides to choke a pup. 

I'll make the slackers sneak and slink, 
I'll make the old guys frown and think; 
Mothers and sisters will weep and bawl; 
Deaf unites and pacifists will hear my call. 

Til make the Johnnies hock their souls, 
And the chinchy misers empty their bowls; 
For, when it comes to ehewin' the fat, 
Casey H. Corgan takes the hat. 

But before I go — just take this down, 
I'll make another Hun taste brown. 
So, Nick, get your roasting fork, 
I'm sending down some more fat pork. 

All — two lingers, I got him there; 
Now watch — a bullet whistled thru the air; 
But 'twas a linn bullet that found its way 
To Corgan's heart that last noon-day. 



AND OTHER POEMS 15 



"The Lifer" 



If you, as T, had spent six years in prison cell, 
And breathed each night the scent of all the 

smells of hell; 
If you, as I, could see for each crime confined 
Thousands like unto thee, maybe you'd change 

your mind. 

If you, as [, should wear an ancient prison suit, 

With seal]) close shaved, quite bare, and man- 
acled to boot, 

Then yon, as T, would seem a creature low and 
vile — 

A nightmare of a dream, the apogee of guile. 

If yon, as I, could feel the human spark within 
The lifer's mute appeal, the victim of one sin, 
Then yon, as I, might know the horrors of the 

night, 
The misery of the blow — the life without a 

light. 



16 WAR IS A BORE 

But you will never suffer the pains of the trans- 
gressor, 

Your life will ne'er be rougher for the feeble, 
sick confessor; 

And the two-inch path you tread will lead you 
on forlorn 

To join your soul long dead, and there'll be no 
one to mourn. 




AND OTHER POEMS 17 



But the Wahr Is a Bawr, 
Don't Ye Know 

I'm Reginald Cooper Abei-day, 

Of Middlesex Comity and R. F. A., 

And I've done me bit in me time, I'd say; 
lint wahr's a bawr, don't ye know? 

I knew thai the Til were itching for fight, 
And I knew of Hengland's dizzy plight; 

80 when it stawted I henlisted that night, 
Tho walir's a bawr, don't ye know. 

'Twas first at the battle of Verdun 

Where we were outnumbered nine to one, 

But even so, 'twas 'ardly fun ; 

For wahr's a bawr, don't ye know? 

We chawged an 'ill of No Man's Land, 
Where bullets camouflaged the sand. 

And I lost me right lieye and me left 'and ; 
But wahr's a bawr, don't ye know ? 



18 WAR IS A BORE 

We soon 'ad the beggars on the run. 
For there's no stuff in the bloody 'Un; 

And I took eight thousand bodies and a ma- 
chine gun ; 
But wahr's a bawr, don't ye know? 

Twas next at the battle of Ypres, 

On a dirty, mirky, beastly day, 
I was a bit wounded, and there I lay; 

But wahr's a bawr, don't ye know? 

Altho quite unnecessary to my story, 

I decided to take inventory, 
And found both legs gone and me 'ead quite 
gory; 

But wahr's a bawr, don't ye know? 

You may fawncy I was a bit distressed 
To see them advawncing over the crest, 

For 1 really rawther needed rest, 
And wahr's a bawr, don't ye know. 

I>n I I braced meself as best T could 
And clevahly fashioned splints of wood, 

And chased them back to Melancourt; 
Hut wahr's a bawr, don't ve know? 



AND OTHER POEMS 19 

Whether one or two million, I've forgot, 
I Jut I remembered that my tempah was so 
deuced hot 

That I slew the whole dizzy blawsted lot; 
But wahr's a bawr, don't ye know? 

II required two trains to carry away 
The trophies which I collected that day 

Of German 'elmets and such; but I say 
Wahr's a bawr, don't ye know. 

If you should chawnce upon my 'onie in Regent 
Square, 

You'll find a whiskbroom which T 'ave there 
Of the Kaiser's whiskers and 'Indenburg's 'air; 

But wain's a bawr, don't ye know? 




WAR IS A BORE 



Royal Indigestion 

The Kink puffed at his cigarette 
And glanced at the report. 
"How many thousand men/' asked he, 
"Will it cost to take the fort?" 

The General bent to bended knee, 
And thus he thus replied : 
"At the last attack, your Majesty, 
But sixty thousand died." 

"'Tis well," nodded the potentate, 
And yawned a royal yawn. 
"I must to bed, it is quite late; 
Let the attack begin at dawn." 

The battle raged — 'twas badly staged; 
Men died — the die was cast; 
The tight Avas lost al awful cost — 
Upset the Kink's breakfast. 



AND OTHER POEMS 21 



"Contact" 



My wind is up, I will admit. 

The bloodv Boche have got my grit; 

I'm all in and T want to go 

Back homo on ninety years furlough. 

1 am the last of only three 

Of the Pierre Peyton Escadrille; 

There's only Franz and dean and me, 
And Franz is lame and Jean can't see; 
And T am sick as sick can be — 
( >f war and all its story. 

It's not the fight that gets my stuff, 

Altho God knows I've had enough; 

But I come from stock that's hard and tough ; 

It's not the clamor of the guns, 

Or bocherie of the Huns; 

For when you cast to do your bit, 

You soon get used to it. 



22 WAR IS A BORE 

It's Mother Earth, the bloody wench, 
Who's sweet enough upon her bench ; 
lint should von chance to leave her lot, 
She may forgive and she may not. 
Of all the fickle females, she 
Is the last for me. 

I've seen them fall in her graces, 

With broken limbs and shattered faces; 

Her bitter cruelty knows no bounds 

For jilted lovers; and a thousand mounds, 

Like eruptions on her stinking breast, 

Hold those who one by one have fallen — 

And I'm done. 

.My wind is up, I want to leave 
And go away where I can breathe, 
And eat and rest and sleep, 
And dance and sing and leap 
For joy at all that Nature holds — 
As new born boy. 

My wind is np — what's thai yon say. 

The Boche are sighted on the way? 

Contact — contact! you clown, make haste! 

That we may give them one more taste 

Of Kultnr and all iis horror; 

We'll think of home tomorrow. 



AND OTHER POEMS 23 



'The Indigestible Yank" 

I'm in the clinque, I'm on the brinque of vague 
and weird disaster; 

The (loors are charred, the doors are barred, 
the walls are alabaster; 

But why should I sit up and cry, and worry 
how they treat me; 

For they may boot, or even shoot, but they sure- 
ly cannot eat me. 

I'm on the verge, in O. I), serge, of clammy 
calamity; 

Do not mistake, I do not quake nor clamor 
after pity ; 

For they may curse or take my purse, and may- 
be even beat me; 

But one great thing, now hear me sing — they 
certainly cannot eat me. 



24 WAR IS A BORE 

The thin roof leaks, the drear hall reeks with 
low and loathsome odors. 

Outside the bars I hear the cars and the pur- 
ring of the motors ; 

But let them sweat, and let them threat, and 
hustle to defeat me — 

The one great thought that counts for aught — 
they surely cannot eat me. 




AND OTHER POEMS 25 



A Match, Sir 



Sir, the captain sir, of the Fifth sir, extinds his 

complimints, 
And sends me sir, to see sir, if ye've a match 

within yer pants. 
Says he sir, to me sir, in a manner military, 
Go fetch a light ye lummox, and go fetch it in 

a hurry. 

Says I sir, to he sir, as befit a 'listed man, 
Thank ye sir, if yon please sir, I'll fetch it soon 

as I can. 
Then he sir, gives me sir, with a military grin, 
A high kick sir, in a place sir, where the O. IVs 

gotten Ihin. 



26 WAR IS A BORE 



Chili Con Carne 

In San Antonio, on Calle Alamo, 

Don Jose Fernandez, friend of Huerta, 

Sells Mexican Habas with tender cordero 
To hombres with liambre with lofty disdain. 

For wise is Don Jose, and well knows that 
gringos 

With nmelio dinero know not. what to eat; 
Huevos for breakfast, unspeakable heces, 

Cafe con leche and poisonous meat. 

Patatas comido and boiled coliiiores, 
And sopa and jamon and arroz galores; 
Aesthetic Don Jose, with muche dolores, 
Shudders and shivers and computes the bill. 

But when a Castilian true cavallero 
Enters the salon, demands bill of faro, 
Don Jose Fernandez leaps from his chairo 
And stands all attention, eager to serve. 



AND OTHER POEMS 27 

Don Michael Patricio, direct from Kilarney, 
Desires a large bowl of Chili Con Came; 
Wants it damn pronto and none of your blar- 
ney — 
Joy fills the soul of the friend of Huerta. 

Chili Con Came, Mexican treat, 
Rattlesnake giblets and tarantula feet; 
Copious pimenta to add to the heat, 
For the crude cavallero. 

Cacti Vinagre, rich ensalada, 

The senor is thirsty — a pitcher of aqua 

Full of alkali, will serve for cerveza, 

Which gringos with madness refuse to allow. 

Don Michael Patricio, his hunger voracious, 
Seizes the Chili, jaws dripping rapacious, 
Splutters and stutters in manner pugnacious, 
Addresses Don Jose. 

"You misbegotten heathen Mexican snake, 
May you and your kind the good saints forsake, 
And a million divils feast at your wake — • 
On vour Chili Con Carne. 



28 WAR IS A BORE 



Divine Right 

Say, Jim — you ignoramus a-settin' there, 

With your head caved in, 
With your feet cocked up. 

And your arm in a sling — 
Do you know what started 

This whole damn show? 
What killed them women and children, too, 
And put Europe syrup and ketchup in the stew, 
And sent t' hell millions like me and you, 
And left us in this sorry plight? 
Divine Right, Jim, Divine Right. 

Say, don't set there so dumb, a starin' at me 
With them blinkin' eyes what cannot see; 
I never done it; I'm only tellin' ye 
Of this God damn light 

What sent t' hell millions before they wnz due. 
And overcrowded the joint with such as yon, 
And left on earth comf table a very damn few — 
But a billion widders and orphings without a 

a bite? 
Why, Divine Right, Jim, Divine Right. 



AND OTHER POEMS 29 

Aw, say something — say something, ye doty 

gink, 
Ami if you can't talk, why try to think. 
Ye se1 there lookin' like the missin' link, 
While I'm trying to put ye righl 
To the reason why and the wherefore of 
The Big C. < >. in Headquarters Above 
Bobbed me of me legs and you of yer sight 
Thru Divine Right, Jim, Divine Right. 

Aw no, no, Jim, don't take me wrong, 
I didn't mean to go that strong- 
Jest have patience and it won't be long 
-Till I'm thru my spiel. 
But believe me, if I really thought 
That truly 'twas Divine Right that brought 
This woe and stress and frightful blight 
Upon the earth — why, 
I'd start a revolution of my own — 
To kick Jove off his (Hided Throne. 



30 WAR IS A BORE 



The Love of Strife 

This life's all a struggle, 

Said some silly gray-whiskered old bore, 
But the people eagerly listened — 

They took it and asked for more. 

For whoever's so stupid and simple 

For the people to understand, 
Is thought a great wise philosopher 

And heralded o'er the land. 

But 'tis true, life's all a battle, 

Till death from the day of our birth ; 

We fight for our milk and honey, 
We fight to reduce our girth. 

We fight for the filthy lucre, 

We fight for the women we love; 

We fight for votes for women, 
We fight for the Great Above. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



31 



We fight against sickness and trouble, 
We fight against poverty and debt; 

We fight against strong temptations, 
They're fighting in Europe yet. 

But the battle of all the ages 

Shall start when the war shall cease, 
And a terrible conflict surely — 

The fight for UNIVERSAL PEACE. 



[the end.] 




m,„™. ARY 0F CONGRESS 

018 394 517 8 % 



